


Accidentally in Love

by Holle_wood



Category: South Park
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst with a Happy Ending, High School, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, M/M, Past Drug Addiction, mentions of suicide and suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:55:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22225228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Holle_wood/pseuds/Holle_wood
Summary: Kenny's had a rough few years- seventeen of them- and though he doesn't see this changing sometimes life has a way of surprising even a kid like him.Or, Kenny McCormick stumbles accidentally back into Craig Tucker’s life, and strangely enough Craig finds that he doesn’t want to ask him to leave.
Relationships: Karen McCormick & Kenny McCormick, Karen McCormick & Tricia Tucker, Kenny McCormick/Craig Tucker
Comments: 4
Kudos: 81





	1. Craig

**Author's Note:**

> This is yet another self indulgent treatise to relationships that combine low self esteem with poor communication. Everything is contrived and nothing makes narrative sense, enjoy?
> 
> If for whatever reason you do enjoy this story, however, I don't know how long it'll end up being nor can I guarantee any kind of update schedule sorry I'm trash :)

.

.

.

This, Craig decides, is bullshit.

It’s one am on a fucking school night and rather than tucked in for some nice, restful sleep, he’s hauling his ass out of town to go pick up his little sister’s best friend and her brother-

“Craig.”

“Mn.”

“Craig.”

“F’ckoff.”

“Wake up dick I need your help-"

And that had been enough. Just that. His little sister calls him a dick and off he goes on a nearly two-hour drive to Denver city in the middle of the night, with a brief stop-over in the absolute shittiest part of town.

“Why the fuck do you need to be in Denver in the middle of the night?” Craig asks as he pulls onto the road. Tricia hunches in the passenger seat. She’s wearing a hoodie Craig knows belongs to him because it’s big enough to fall off her hands with fabric to spare. He shivers briefly. Would’ve been nice if she’d given him time to grab something more than the long sleeved shirt he’d gone to sleep in.

“I don’t need to be there, Kenny needs to not be there. Now hurry up, Karen’s waiting.”

Craig casts her a mildly incredulous look that she flips him off for in true Tucker fashion. Craig’s still holding his own middle finger up in retaliation when he stops the car in front of the McCormick’s house. Karen darts out the door almost immediately, quick enough that she must have been waiting at the window for them to pull up.

She leaps into the back seat, reaching a hand out to Tricia that his sister immediately grabs. Her nose is red with cold, her lips chapped beneath it and the coat she’s wearing has more patches than it has swaths of the original dull green fabric. Craig wearily turns on the heat as far as the stupid thing will go without conking out.

“Hi Craig.” Karen leans forward over the centre console. Tricia twists slightly to rest their heads together. Craig ignores their cuddling and raises a pointed eyebrow at Karen.

“Can you just get us to Denver, please? We can tell you where to go from there,” Karen asks quietly. Her voice is hurried, shaky. Craig heaves a sigh and pulls away from the curb.  
It’s a quiet drive to Denver. Craig’s drowsy, fighting to stay focused in the silence of the car. Tricia and Karen aren’t talking, hands clasped in between the seats.

The road is empty until he gets closer to the city, and then once they are surrounded by tall buildings and bright lights Karen leans forward to point out the way. Too long spent following Karen’s vague directions and halfheartedly attempting to parse Tricia’s cryptic non-explanations later, and they’re pulling off a dark street into a barely lit car park. Craig reminisces about his recent choices with rising incredulity.

Tricia jumps from the passenger seat the moment he parks in the corner of the gravel parking lot of a shady looking club. She’s followed closely by Karen. Craig looks at them, and then at the building again. There’s no sign of life except for the bouncer standing next a dull, flickering sign. The words on it are illegible, and Craig barely tries to read them before giving up.

Tricia pushes her oversized sleeves up, seemingly not bothered by the fact that it’s negative 3 degrees outside. Craig shivers as the frigid air floods the car. He considers the overall menace of the building in front of them again.

“You’re going in there?” He asks flatly. He’s not going to stop them- probably couldn’t if he tried- but that seems. Like a bad idea.

“Kenny’s inside,” Tricia says, like this is somehow important to Craig.

“Uh Huh. And?” He snarks, huffing hot air over his hands. Tricia scowls, flips him off with both middle fingers.

“Some of us,” she says pointedly, “Help our friends.” Craig says nothing, hoping his incredulous stare gets the message across just fine. Tricia snorts, flipping him off again as she slams the car door and darts towards the bar.

“We’ll be back soon,” Karen says quietly before she darts off too. Craig locks the car doors immediately and keeps the key in the ignition.

The bouncer barely acknowledges them as they stride past him, Tricia giving him a narrowed eyed glare all the same. Craig has enough human empathy left in his black shrivelled soul to pity the first sleaze bag who tries to hit on either of them.

It gets colder as he waits in the car. Craig blows on his fingers to warm them. It seems ridiculous to him that this is a place where he is at right now. Fully awake and lucid, Craig contemplates his choices only to find that they make less sense upon inspection.

Kenny McCormick is not his friend. He hasn’t thought about the asshole in years. Has only seen him in passing since they hit eighth grade and Kenny stopped hanging around Stan, Kyle and Cartman. It was about the same time that McCormick also stopped hanging around with Butters, Token, Clyde and well, anyone really. He doesn’t think McCormick even goes to school anymore. He can’t recall the last time he saw him in class. That obnoxious orange coat he wears is something Craig’d probably remember even if he wasn’t paying attention. Which he wasn’t, because why would Craig give a single flying fuck about Kenny McCormick?

He’s about to lose patience and text Tricia that he’s going home without her- he probably wouldn’t actually go- when there’s movement at the door of the seedy building. Tricia’s come back out, hauling someone by the arm, looping it over her shoulder. He recognises Karen on the other side, holding the other arm of who Craig assumes must be McCormick.

The bouncer watches them stagger through the snow lazily, and while Craig’s tempted to do the same, he swears low as he kicks open the door of the car and goes the last three metres to meet them. It becomes rapidly apparent that McCormick’s inability to walk properly or get himself home is less a result of inebriation and more because someone has beaten the absolute shit out of him.

“Christ,” Craig says, and stops abruptly when he’s close enough to see the bruising and the blood. Tricia blows hair out of her face and frowns at him.

“Gonna help?” She says pointedly. Craig scowls, goes to snap at her but is interrupted by a soft voice.

“Sorry Craig, but he’s nearly unconscious, I don’t know if we could get him into the house by ourselves,” Karen says. She’s slightly out of breath, and when Craig takes a closer look the calmness of her voice is belied by the glassiness of her eyes and the tremble in her hands. He sighs internally and reaches out.

“Here,” He mutters. “I’ll take this side.” He takes McCormick’s arm off Karen and lets her manoeuvre it onto his own shoulder, resting the bulk of McCormick’s weight against him rather than Tricia. Craig grunts slightly. Dude’s pretty skinny but he’s also well and truly unconscious now and a dead weight’s a dead weight.

“Open the door,” he orders Karen, who darts forward without argument. They wrestle Kenny up to it, but Craig pulls back when Tricia tries to lower him down.

“What?” She snaps. “We’re not exactly lush on time you know.”

Craig stares at her flatly. “You got a sheet or something? Dude’s gonna bleed all over the seats. Good luck explaining that one to dad,” he says, snide as he can make it.

“Here.” Karen shrugs off her patchwork coat quickly, climbing into the car and turning around to lay it on the seat.

“Heating doesn’t work too well,” Craig warns. Karen shakes her head and shrugs at him.

“‘M use to it,” she answers, anxious eyes fixed on her brother.

“Come on!” Tricia groans, leaning McCormick forward until Craig has to help her lower him into the car or drop him. “We need to get him home.”

Karen takes the weight of McCormick’s head and shoulders, cradling them like precious glass on her lap until Tricia’s finished fitting his legs in. She all but sprints around to the front seat, slamming the door behind her. Craig takes a hint and starts the engine quickly, pulling out without waiting for Tricia to put on her seat belt- a taboo in the Tucker household after what happened to Laura.

She doesn’t look like she’s gonna be buckling up for this particular ride anyway, twisting around to watch the McCormicks in the back seat.

“How’s he doing?” She asks. Craig vaguely registers the softness in her voice- usually reserved exclusively for Karen but apparently extending to her brother by proxy. He’s more concerned with Karen’s quiet reply.

“I don’t know- but he’s breathing.”

Which is goddamn music to Craig’s ears because any breathing McCormick is doing is not audible. Not that Craig’s keen to listen to any rasping, gurgling, coughing or any gross mixture of the three, but he can’t hide from the fact that those sounds would mean McCormick hasn’t gone into the light.

Fuck Craig hopes Kenny McCormick doesn’t die in his Dad’s car.

“Shouldn’t we be going to a hospital maybe?” Craig points out. Karen sighs, a small sound.

“Yes,” she says. “But we’ll make do.”

Tricia throws him a fierce glare that Craig returns incredulously. It was far from an unreasonable thing to say given the circumstances.

“Just get us home fast,” she orders. “Our place. Not theirs.”

Craig opens his mouth to argue- not because he thinks a leisurely drive is gonna be the best thing for them- but on principle because Tricia’s rolling out the usual bullshit like he’s driving her to KFC for a snack and not doing whatever the fuck it is he’s doing tonight.

“Please, Craig,” Tricia adds, cutting him off. Craig closes his mouth and shrugs.

“Whatever,” he mutters.

He hits the freeway doing 10 over, comes off it just as fast. The drive back seems a lot shorter than the drive there, but the sun is definitely starting to rise when he pulls back into South Park. He slows on the local streets, chafing under the sense of urgency from the girls just as much as they are themselves- but if someone calls in a noise complaint or is curious enough to get up and peek through their curtains, Craig and Tricia are gonna be in for a whole new kind of shit.

They drive in silence still, barring the inaudible murmuring of Karen, talking to her brother the whole way back. Probably telling him to stay away from the light. She occasionally raises her voice slightly to tell Tricia he’s still steady. Craig appreciates the updates too, but for his own car decor-related reasons.

Tricia’s out the door before he’s even stopped the car once they pull into the Tucker’s drive, peering in at Karen. Craig turns off the car and follows only a little reluctantly. At least his part in this was mercifully almost finished- though Tricia had a lot of explaining in her near future.

“We’ll make too much noise carrying him together, or trying to drag him,” Tricia says to him, frowning.

“And we might make it worse if we move him around a lot,” Karen says, shifting McCormick’s torso off her lap. Craig heaves yet another sigh.

“Okay, we’re doing this apparently,” he hisses under his breath. Then, louder, “I’ll carry him.” He tosses the keys to Tricia.

“Open the back door,” he says. “Quietly. If dad wakes up we’re fucked.” Tricia snorts and rolls her eyes almost as if she can’t possibly help herself.

“No shit,” She says. She leaves to open the door anyway. Craig considers what he’s doing for a second, then he huffs a breath and leans his upper body into the car, fitting his arms under McCormick’s shoulders and knees. Tricia would be the one cleaning the blood out of his coat.

“Can you carry him yourself?” Karen asks anxiously. She’s helping position her brother to make it easier to lift him. Craig catches her eyeing his arms and- okay, maybe he’s not Stan Marsh or Token Black buff, but he’s not Butters. He can carry one dude up a flight of stairs. He rolls his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says flatly “I think I’ll manage.” Karen blinks at him, the tiniest smile hinting at a dimple in her cheek.

“You look like Tricia when you do that,” she says. Craig ignores her, hauling himself back out of the car, McCormick in hand. Karen helps until he’s standing straight again, McCormick limp in his arms.

Guy is not looking good; more bruises than skin, enough blood to be concerning, and he’s not moving at all- a dead weight. Craig would probably call it, time of death who knows fucking when, but he can feel McCormick breathing weakly against his neck.

“Come on,” he says to Karen. He walks as fast as he can without jostling McCormick too much or losing his balance. Also. He is pretty heavy for a skinny guy. Has he said that already? Craig’s really not all that strong.

Tricia’s not there, but the door is hanging open. They go up the stairs together, Karen going on ahead to Tricia’s room at the landing. Thomas Tucker’s bedroom door stays mercifully closed, but Craig hurries past it anyway. Tricia’s door is open too, and so is the bathroom behind them. Craig can hear Tricia rustling quietly in there, but heads straight for her room and bed because McCormick really is starting to make his arms ache.

Karen’s laying out one of Tricia’s old security blankets from when she was a kid over the bed covers. Craig lowers McCormick as gently as he can manage and steps back.

Karen is by the bed in an instant, performing what Craig can only assume is an impromptu medical assessment. It hits him then, how fucking weird the past couple of hours have been. It’s pretty fucking surreal to think he just drove to Denver and back to pick up some dude and bring him to Craig’s house in the early hours of the morning.

But there is a boy- probably- bleeding out in Tricia’s bed, and it is most certainly Kenny McCormick.

Karen’s leaning over her brother still. Craig blinks blearily at the pair of them. He has to be awake in an hour and a half for school. Is there really even a point in sleeping?

“Kenny?” Karen asks in a hushed whisper, small hands fluttering over his black eyes, the cut on his cheek and the bruising along his jaw. “Kenny, can you hear me?”

Tricia comes out of the bathroom across the hall with a first aid kit tucked neatly under her arm, striding into the room and over to sit next to McCormick’s hip. Craig just stares because what the actual fuck.

“I’ve got bandages and iodine, but that cut might need stitches, and he could have a head injury,” She says quietly, setting out the items as she describes them. “The ones on his legs are bad, but I can try my best.” Craig briefly thinks about asking why his little sister is so comfortable with this scenario that she doesn’t mind the dude smearing dirt and blood over her sheets. He decides better of it and the moment passes. Tricia will tell him if she wants him to know.

Karen huffs a shaky breath, “I know. We’ll just have to do what we can and let him sleep.” Craig is no doctor, but that sounds a hell of a lot like the opposite of the right thing to do in this situation.

“Maybe it really would be better to take him to a hospital,” he points out. He can’t help himself. McCormick could literally die. Karen jumps, as though she’d forgotten he was here. She stares at him a moment. Her eyes are large and swimming with concern for her brother.

“He wouldn’t like that,” she replies softly, turning back to brush bloody hair from his face. Tricia takes this in her stride like it’s an acceptable thing, unzipping a pocket of the first aid bag to grab what she needs. Craig raises his eyebrows.

“With that bruising, the rest of him is probably as fucked up as his face,” he says tersely, nearing the end of his limited patience. “And Dad will be awake at some point, what are you going to tell him about the dead guy in your bed?”

“Shut up Craig, you asshole,” Tricia snaps, stretching out to grab Karen’s free hand and give it a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll patch him up and he can sleep it off.”

Craig heeds the warning in her tone, unable to muster the emotional investment required to fight with her over McCormick’s chance of ‘sleeping this off’. And well- Karen was one of the most relatively inoffensive people in the world and everyone in South Park knew how fond of her brother she was.

“Whatever,” he sighs again. “And the blood?”

“Who cares? I’ll work it out,” Tricia says irritably, tearing open a packet of cotton swabs. They’re the kind found in any standard first aid kit, and Karen is using them to dab the brown shit in the bottle Tricia hands her over the cut on Kenny’s face.

“Tell him you got your period unexpectedly?” Karen offers, voice shaky but hands determined. “Men freak out when you mention periods. Stop asking questions. Usually run away.”

Craig makes a face despite himself and Tricia snickers lightly. He rolls his eyes to the ceiling and flips her off.

“Can I go now?” He intones. “And sleep knowing you won’t be waking me up again?”

Tricia waves him off. “Yeah yeah, go back to bed.” Craig brings his hands together and mouths a sarcastic ‘thank you’ to the heavens. Then he starts for the door as the girls whisper to each other and the unconscious McCormick. He obviously won’t hear them, Craig thinks tiredly. He should be in a hospital. A noise stops him in the doorway.

“Thank you for helping us,” Karen says softly as he opens the door. Craig turns back, looking from her to the lump on the bed, to Tricia, who gives him a small smile. He shrugs and leaves.

.

.

.


	2. Kenny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for mentions of past drug abuse and suicide. Also a lot of angst and moping from poor Kenny who is having a Rough time at the mo

.  
.  
.  
Kenny wakes up in his own bed. 

The usual beam of sunlight shines through the holes in his curtains directly into his eyes. The cracked ceiling above his head has all the familiar water-damaged patches of mould that he used to fancy into shapes as a kid. That one could be a dinosaur, over there is a rocket if he squints and tilts his head a little. It’s a pretty normal way to wake up for Kenny. He wakes up in his own bed most mornings, either because he’s put himself there the night before or because something’s killed him throughout the course of yesterday. 

He knows for certain that he did not make it home last night, though, and as he blinks his eyes slowly, trying to wake up, Kenny remembers his most recent trip to the afterlife. 

“Fuck,” Kenny breathes. “Thank fuck.” It’s with bone deep relief that he runs a hand over his face and thanks his guardian angel (or whatever Kenny’s got looking after him instead) that Karen won’t remember yesterday- or at least the parts that included Kenny. She would be distraught if she knew what he’d done, and what had been done to him. 

He takes a moment to breath. 

There’s nothing wrong with his body, of course. It’s perfect; no scars or bruises or hurts to show Kenny’s ever had an injury in his life. But death doesn’t take away the parts of his mind that recall the damage to his body that he should have. Kenny’s memory is never so vivid as it is when he wakes up in his own bed, stuff no one else in the world will remember playing on a loop in his mind, bottled up like a special secret nightmare home movie; just for him. 

Kenny sits up and shakes it off like he’s had seventeen years of practise- oh wait. His lips twitch a little. You gotta be able to laugh at the little things, right? 

It’s cold when he rolls out of bed, the carpet so thin that he might as well be standing straight on the concrete beneath. Kenny ignores it like always and makes his way over to the closet. The door’s still broken from years ago so he doesn’t have to open anything to see his meagre wardrobe hanging up like the world’s shittiest op-shop. 

He always woke up in nothing but a plain white t-shirt nowadays, faded to grey, about four sizes too big for him, and practically a dress. It had taken Kenny until he was fifteen to actually have a growth spurt- probably malnutrition- but he’d eventually filled out just enough in the shoulders that he couldn’t fit his childhood orange coat anymore. He’d given it to Karen and grabbed himself a similar coat in a deep shade of purple from the school lost and found to wear every day instead. But he never wakes up in it, just the shirt.

Kenny dresses fast, noting the time on the ancient alarm-radio that he’d salvaged from a garage sale. It’s late enough that Karen would have come in to check on him if she’d been home. Which meant she was still with Tricia at the Tucker’s. Was probably at the Tucker’s? 

He wanders out into the hall while he thinks, considering a vague recollection he had of Karen whispering to him frantically while he lay across someone’s car seat. He’d been in a fuck ton of pain at the time, but Kenny had a higher threshold for that than most people, so he can pick his memory for the brief snatches that he’d been conscious. 

Kenny winces at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. There’s no bruising obviously, just his face as it normally looks, hollowed and hungry and poor. And tired. He looks a little like his dad used to, now that he’s getting older. Complete with the same defeated, bitter slump to his shoulders. How fun. 

Kenny grabs his toothbrush and starts brushing with water. There’s a little toothpaste left but he’ll save that for tonight. He thinks while he brushes.

He’d been in the car with Karen, and there had been one- two other people? One driving, obviously, and one in the passenger seat. He wouldn’t put it past Tricia to try, but he’s pretty sure she hadn’t been behind the wheel, because he’s also pretty sure he was carried into a house by someone. Someone with solid arms and warm chest, strong enough to walk him up a flight of stairs. Someone who was probably Craig Tucker, who had a licence, a car, and solid arms. Kenny paused at the thought, spat into the sink. 

Fucking typical. He actually gets to be in the same car as Craig Tucker- tall, dark and gorgeous- and not only was he beaten, bloody and apparently dying, but Craig wasn’t even going to remember. Not that it would matter if he did of course. Craig is top tier merchandise and Kenny’s in his own league of shit- but still. Kenny sighs wistfully. Missed opportunities. 

He does wonder how on earth Tricia convinced Craig to touch him- none of his classmates have dared ever since that rumour went around in seventh grade that Kenny had some kind of contagious skin disease going on. He’d tried to ignore the whole thing, desperate to not know, but he thinks it was meant to be STIs? The irony being that Kenny couldn’t stop dying long enough to sustain an STI even if anyone was willing to sleep with him. Which they weren’t- at least not at school. 

The thoughts are fleeting and absent; Kenny moves on to making a plain, peanut butter sandwich for lunch instead. He’s long since learnt to let that stuff roll off his back. 

It’s not like it’ll matter in the long run, what anyone thinks of Kenny, or doesn’t think.

He’s too late to catch the bus by the time he leaves the house, so he just starts walking to school instead. He’ll miss homeroom, but he should make it in time for the second half of the morning. Karen won’t mind him sleeping a little longer if he makes it in the end. 

He has even more time to think while he walks, and Kenny considers the night before. For it to go so wrong that Karen’s involved, that she’s pulled the Tuckers in alongside her- that’s bad. That’s more than bad. That’s dangerous and Kenny had been stupid. He’d made too many mistakes and he hadn’t hit the failsafe quick enough. 

It had initially been a chance to make a little extra money for Karen’s college fund; a one-night job with no strings attached. Far enough from South Park that there’d be no risk of anyone knowing him and if it went wrong all he had to do was pull a trigger and he’d be home the next morning with no one the wiser. Sometimes with the more gruesome deaths it took him a few days, or a week to come back. The stuff that tore him to shreds or blew him up. But a gunshot? Clean through the head by Kenny himself? That was easy. 

Kenny, miscalculating, hadn’t pulled a trigger before he’d been unable to. Still no reason to panic; he’d reasoned he’d end up dead in the end anyway. Only sometimes people surprised you with their unexpected decency. His one-time boss had apparently bothered to step in for him, and, well; next time he’d be leaving the phone at home, that’s for sure. No one would be calling Karen for help again, not when Kenny never got into any trouble he couldn’t get out of with a little determination.

“McCormick you dumbass, get it together,” He mutters quietly, watching his breath fog in the air. He’s nearly at the high school now, could see the school building in the distance. 

His phone goes off as he’s stepping into the parking lot. Kenny grabs it from his coat, flips it open.

“Hello?” 

“Ah Kenny! You come in for work today? I very busy- give you some free city beef?” 

Kenny considers. The school building looms in front of him, promising all the joys of classes he barely understood and teachers who wanted nothing to do with him. 

“You know what?” He says under his breath, then louder, “Sure Mr Wong. Give me half an hour.”

“Thank you thank you! I see you soon!” 

Kenny pockets his phone and turns on his heel. At least if he works the day at City Wok and the afternoon at the garage it won’t feel like a waste of time. Kenny’s never gonna do anything with his limited and patchy knowledge of calculus. He doesn’t have the energy to struggle through it today anyway, he’s tired. 

There’s no one who will notice if he doesn’t show up either. Most of his teachers don’t expect him to, he and Karen are in separate parts of the school building, and well. Kenny doesn’t have any other friends. Not anymore. Not since he was thirteen and he decided it would be a good idea to use himself to death a few times for the hell of it. People didn’t remember the deaths of course, but they did remember the drugs. 

It’s pretty quiet when Kenny walks into City Wok, but that just means that there’s been another health complaint and Mr Wong needs his help to cover up all the nasty shit a health inspector would shut the restaurant down for. It’s almost a shame; he likes when he gets to help with the cooking.

“You go out back and clean please,” Mr Wong orders, filling a container with something that smells so strongly of garlic and ginger that no one’s likely to taste anything else. 

Which is probably for the best, Kenny thinks wryly, when he walks into the back of the store and sees the state of the fridge, kitchen and storeroom. He gets down to work quickly. This is an old game, for him. Apart from Friday and Saturday nights, City Wok is never busy enough to need Kenny doing anything other than tackling all the gross residue that accumulates in a fast food place when it’s only cleaned irregularly by one person who has limited time.

He starts on the big stuff first, chucking his coat to the side to get in the fridge and empty it out. He throws out anything that smells particularly bad and scrubs the mould from the door seals and bottom. Then he moves to the dry storage, chucking out the noticeably off foods and getting rid of any mould he sees with an industrial size bottle of chemical cleaner. The kitchen is the longest part, so he usually leaves it for last. It’s a lot of work, scrubbing dried on food and grease off all that stainless steel- but luckily Kenny’s not going for perfection, just something that looks passable. 

Mr Wong comes in and out a few times, but not to do any cooking. He takes containers of food to the microwave and then goes back out to the counter when Kenny refuses the offer of eating any. He’s got a sandwich in his coat pocket that’ll do him just fine. 

He’s coated in grime and sweating by the time he’s finished, and a quick glance at the cracked plastic watch on his arm tells him he’s been at it for three and a half hours. That left him time to mop the floor as well. Kenny does so cheerfully. Even when he’s so tired he could sleep on his feet, he doesn’t mind physical work. Especially the day after a death- he likes to feel everything in his body working the way it should, whole and able. The reminder that- whatever happened to him yesterday- today he’s still standing.

“Kenny you finish?” Mr Wong sticks his head into the back again and casts a critical eye over the room. Kenny leans against the mop handle and waits to see whether he’s going to have to reclean anything. 

“That fine, you want food? Or go home I don’t need anymore help.” 

Kenny shrugs, stands upright and takes the mop bucket to the sink to tip it out. “No thank you sir, I’ll just head off now.” And catch a nap before he starts at the garage in the afternoon. It’s just fucking typical that time dead doesn’t equate to time sleeping. Kenny probably wouldn’t even know how to function if there was ever a time where he was well-rested. 

There’s no point walking all the way home. Kenny considers his options and decides that the park should be good place to catch some shut eye. He heads off down the sidewalk, planning to avoid main street. Most people would know who he was- it’s South Park, after all- and odds are at least one will be willing to act on the assumption that the no-good, white trash, crack-smoking, school-skipping McCormick boy was doing something he shouldn’t be. 

Well, to be fair, Kenny is actually skipping school- technically illegal. But he also doesn’t like going anywhere that gives people the opportunity to give him that ‘look’. The one that makes him feel as dirty and small and worthless as everyone thinks he is. The one that makes him want to find the nearest dealer carrying heavier merchandise than weed and blow everything away. Because it’s a slippery slope, and Kenny made a promise to Karen a long time ago that he wouldn’t throw himself down it again. 

Anyway. Kenny’s avoiding main street. 

It’s a quiet time of day, there’s only the odd person around. The park itself is completely empty, which makes sense given that all the kids are at school and all the adults are at work. Kenny makes a bee line for the closest bench and sits his coat down at one end as a pillow. He hasn’t put it back on to avoid getting it dirty with the same unmentionable substances from City Wok’s kitchen that had trashed his white undershirt. The cold itself is tolerable, considering it’s not a particularly chilly day, and Kenny has a pretty strong resistance to cold anyway. 

“Kenny?”

He’s just managed to drift off when a voice calls him back to wakefulness with a groan. Kenny cracks open one heavy eye and freezes. He knows now why the voice seems unusually familiar. With a sinking feeling in his gut Kenny meets the eyes of Shelia Broflovski.

Kenny realises suddenly what she must see. Known drug-user and poor kid, sleeping on the park bench in the middle of the day covered in filth and looking like death-warmed over. No one else knows, of course, that Kenny can’t be physically addicted to anything for any longer than the time it takes him to die next. 

He opens his mouth to explain automatically, then stops. Because there’s never a point trying to explain himself, because he never bothers, he doesn’t know how. 

“Kenny, are you all right?” Her voice is cautious, careful. Like he’s a flight-risk- or a volatile drug addict.

Kenny flushes the moment the thought registers, abruptly embarrassed. It’s one thing for a stranger to have certain opinions of him, but not a woman who used to invite him into her home and feed him and treat him like a member of her own family. 

Kenny and Kyle haven’t been friends in a while, haven’t hung out at Kyle’s house in years, but Kenny remembers Sheila for the stuff she’d passed onto her son. Emotional and quick to react, but also generous and driven by a fierce sense of fair play and justice. She’d been good to him, until he’d gone all the way down the wrong rabbit hole and lost everything. 

(Except Karen. He always has Karen). 

“I’m. Fine.” Kenny tries not to look ashamed; he hasn’t done anything to be ashamed of, except maybe missed a day of school- but it’s hard. It’s just- hard. “Thank you ma’am,” he adds belatedly when Sheila says nothing. 

He sits up straighter and forces himself not to fidget. He does reach out to pull on his coat though. 

“How are you Kenny? I haven’t seen you in a while. How’s Karen, and your mother?” 

Kenny shrugs, eyes down. “I’m good, They’re good. I’ve been busy with, uh,” He waves a hand, finishes with a mumble. “Stuff.” 

Sheila makes a humming noise. “That’s good to hear, really.” Kenny peeks up and finds that she seems to actually mean it, her expression earnest. He flushes again. Sheila clears her throat.

“Now that I have you here, I thought it would be nice to properly catch up sometime, don’t you? How about you, your mother and sister come for dinner? We’d be delighted to have you.” 

Kenny stares. He coughs. Stares some more. Sheila waits patiently, a smile meant to comfort on her face. He forces his mouth to form words and his throat to say them. 

“Uh, thanks.” 

There’s an awkward silence, one that Kenny feels compelled to break by shooting to his feet. “I gotta go!” He blurts. Immediately regrets it, because it seems rude. 

Sheila doesn’t deserve him being rude to her when she’s only trying to be a decent person. But Kenny cannot go over to her house for dinner. He certainly can’t take his mother anywhere near someone else’s property. To sit around a polished wooden table, set with matching dishware in a warm room with another happy family. Pretending all the while that Kenny isn’t who they all know he is. 

“I-I’ll let you know,” he mumbles to his feet, hand raised in a stilted half-wave. He takes off as fast as he can go. 

“Ken-!”

Kenny ignores her. He’ll just lurk somewhere around the garage until his shift’s set to start. Maybe they’ll let him start early and he can throw himself into the most difficult, physically exhausting job available. Maybe when he’s so tired he can’t stand he’ll be able to forget about Sheila’s offer, and how desperately he wishes he could accept it.

Kenny can stand a lot of things. He can handle dying horrifically and having no one know. He can handle the sick self-loathing he feels when he can barely resist his worst impulses and the desire to shoot up with whatever he can find from whoever’s selling. He can handle people treating him like shit and the things he’s willing to do to make ends meet. 

But he can’t handle being pitied. And decent people- people like Sheila Broflovski and her son? They can’t help but pity him.  
.   
.  
.


	3. Craig

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ummm yeh, sorry for the delay. The pandemic has been wreaking havoc on my personal writing economy :/

.

.

.

Craig wakes up dead-ass fucking tired at the crack of seven o’clock the next morning. He shuffles past Tricia’s room on his bleary-eyed way to the bathroom. He hears nothing from inside, but projects as much ill will as he possibly can at the door in the hopes that his sister feels as shitty as he does.

He gets ready in a daze, every movement a sluggish struggle. His reflection stares back at him dully while he brushes his teeth. Maybe Token will let him copy his notes if he sleeps through first period history. Craig shuffles downstairs just in time to see his dad take his last slurp of coffee and drop the mug roughly in the sink on top of last night’s dishes.

“Morning,” Thomas says roughly. Craig mutters a quick ‘hello’ and proceeds to steal a cup of coffee to scull before the bus rocks up.

Craig hates the bus, but Thomas takes one of the cars to work everyday and adamantly refuses to let Craig drive the other. Or have Token pick him up on the way. Unauthorised driving is a big no-go for the Tuckers.

Which reminded Craig that he was going to have to get a few cans of petrol to refill the tank before Thomas noticed it had gone down by half. If Thomas thought Craig had driven without permission it would be his ass on the fire. He can’t do anything about the odometer except hope Thomas doesn’t think to look; just thinking about it is exhausting, and Craig sways on the spot when he lets his heavy eyelids close for a bit.

Thomas is frowning, expression deepening the longer Trisha remains conspicuously absent from the room.

“Where’s your sister?”

Craig shrugs. He won’t rat his sister out- mostly because he’d also be ratting himself out- but he never promised to cover for her either. He finishes his coffee the same moment that Thomas loses patience and strides into the lounge.

“Tricia!”

His dad stands at the bottom of the stairs like the troll that guards the bridge. On another morning Craig might almost feel sorry for her. Not on this morning. He grabs his bag and leaves. Explaining McCormick-and Karen, he presumes- is Tricia’s problem.

The bus is shitty as usual, but luckily Craig’s already got a safely established antisocial personal space bubble that deters anyone from taking the seat next to him. He gets to close his eyes and let his teeth rattle against the window uninterrupted for the whole trip to school.

He slouches off the bus at the same time that Token’s sleek black car pulls into the school lot. He waits at the front stairs for Token to climb out and jog over. He takes one look at Craig’s face and blinks. One hand reaches out to gently poke the skin under Craig’s left eye.

“Christ what happened to you?”

Craig swats his hand away lazily. “Didn’t sleep.”

The first bell goes and they start to walk in, surrounded by a tide of classmates. Craig scans the crowd idly, only pausing when he realises he’s looking for a sign of Tricia or Karen. He shakes his head, reminds himself he probably doesn’t want to know, and asks Token if he’ll take notes for him.

“Just today dude,” Token says sternly. “You won’t learn if you don’t do it yourself.” The corner of his mouth twitches when Craig fixes him with a dour look. He puts his hands on his hips. “Don’t give me that look young man, you know I’m right.”

“I’m too tired for this,” Craig mutters. Token laughs outright, slings a casual arm around his shoulder to guide Craig to class when he lets his eyes droop.

He surprisingly makes it through to lunch without an incident. He even gets to sleep through math as well, when Token turns those big brown eyes on him, all sympathetic honour student. But after history and math comes food time. And food time means Clyde. And Clyde- king of the inane- couldn’t tell a person who has no interest in listening to him from an insentient fucking brick wall if his life depended on it.

It takes precisely five minutes of Clyde’s latest bullshit Bebe-related story for Craig to realise if he cared any less he’d be Tricia listening to boys tell her to smile. With Token gone to get a drink, there’s no one to kick him in the ankle or give him a warning look so Craig lets his general irritation go at the nearest target.

“I just don’t know why she wouldn’t say anything, you know?”

“Who gives a fuck, Clyde?” Craig snaps. His head hits the table with a thud and he squeezes his eyes shut. “If it bothers you so much, ask her! If it doesn’t, why the fuck are you annoying the rest of us with it?”

“I-” Clyde flushes, shocked blessedly silent.

“He’s just asking for advice, why do you have to be such an asshole?”

Kevin frowns and comes to the rescue, like Craig knew he would because he’s so hungry for Clyde’s dick he might as well throw his lunch in the bin. They actually suited each other; Clyde perpetually whining about Bebe playing with him and Kevin following after him like a lost, love-sick pining puppy, day after day. Annoying as fuck.

“Maybe if it wasn’t the same shit with him every single day I’d have some more original advice to offer. Either nut up or shut up, I don’t care which!” He directs the last bit at Clyde, who’s eyes have gone wide.

“Dude what is your problem!” Clyde blusters angrily, finally found his voice again and never one to stay quiet for long anyway. He puffs up like a peacock with clenched fists. Unfortunately for Clyde’s jock routine, Craig’s known Clyde since he was a little kid and he can see the wetness of his eyes and the tremble of his hands. Clyde’s easy to hurt, always has been.

“What’s going on?” Token slides back into the seat next to Craig, placing the drinks in the middle of the table. He looks from person to person. You’d have to be an idiot not to sense the tension and Token is certainly not that.

Craig’s irritation flutters and dies. If he’s exhausted enough to be having emotional outbursts then he shouldn’t be talking to people. He rubs his eyes furiously and lets his head drop onto the table with a thump.

“Shitty night,” he mumbles. There’s a silence where the others decide whether or not to pursue the issue and Craig feels nothing but relief when Token steps in to nudge things along.

“Okay then- you guys ready for the geography quiz?”

“I’m completely fucked!” Clyde bemoans, snapping back quick enough that Craig doesn’t feel particularly guilty. Kevin makes a noise half sympathetic half commiserating and off they go back at it without another backward glance. It only gets louder when Jimmy joins them and starts to interject his particularly brand of obstinate optimism into every other sentence.

Craig still kind of wants to die but Token deflects all conversation that might possibly be aimed at him with the same precision he applies to note-taking so the rest of lunch passes without more drama.

Clyde eyes him a few times as the bell rings and they all stand to pack up their stuff. He walks a few metres away from him to the cafeteria door as well, all wounded wary animal. It’s abnormal because Craig is Clyde’s absolute oldest friend, and he’s gravitated towards Craig’s shoulder as his preferred spot for around fourteen years. Craig stares straight ahead, feeling twitchy.

“I’m going to the bathroom!” Clyde declares at the doors, moving to leave before even Kevin can follow him. Craig clicks his tongue and shoots a hand out.

“I’ll go too.”

He catches Clyde’s arm on the way out stopping him before he splits off from the rest of them. He pulls him off to the side, meeting Token’s eyes for a split second. Token flashes him a smile and ushers them both along, struggling just a bit with a reluctant Kevin who looked like he expected Craig to eat Clyde the moment they were out of sight.

Craig watches them go with relief; Token loves it when Craig acts like a half-way decent person and Craig loves that Token’s smart enough to not need everything Craig is trying to say spoon-fed to him.

“What, dude?” Clyde’s voice is a strange mixture of belligerent and nervous; Craig sighs.

“Sorry for being a dick,” he says bluntly. He waits. Clyde flushes, looks down. He toes the floor a little and shuffles a bit. Craig keeps his eyes fixed on him to stop them rolling so hard that the fuckers just move on out of his skull completely.

“It’s fine. No harm done,” Clyde says eventually. He’s pleased, it’s written clear as day across his face and Craig nods. Friendship salvaged then. He claps a hand on Clyde’s shoulder because Clyde loves touching people and then launches himself back into the flow of teenagers crowding the halls. Clyde follows eagerly, already starting up another inane trail of thought masquerading as a conversation. Craig lets him; the irritation is mild enough to be ignored.

The rest of the day is simultaneously the longest and shortest thing Craig has ever experienced and it is with nothing but relief that he steps out of the school building after the final bell. He has about three hours’ worth of homework in his bag that he’s not going to do and it feels great to imagine dropping straight onto his bed when he gets home and sleeping until tomorrow.

“Dude.”

Craig turns when a hand claps him on the shoulder. Token’s giving him a friendly look of concern, big brown eyes soft at the corners.

“Get some rest tonight, yeah?”

Token’s a pretty good guy. Probably the best person Craig knows. Craig shrugs at him.

“Sure will,” he says blandly.

He doesn’t bother flipping Token off and that’s enough for him to let go of Craig’s shoulder and nod, satisfied.

“See you tomorrow!”

“Yeah,” Craig says to his back. He goes on his way before the sight of Token getting into his shiny black car can make him dread the bus more.

Craig’s almost to the dreaded vehicle in question when he sees a flash of a patchwork green coat coming around the side of the school. It’s immediately familiar and Craig lurches to a stop, suddenly recalling the reason he’s had such a shit day. He doesn’t think before he’s jogging over, calling out to a small girl with brown hair who turns around immediately.

“Craig?” Karen says quietly. It doesn’t mean anything; Karen’s always quiet. Craig used to think it was because he made her nervous before he realised she couldn’t possibly be intimidated by him like the other girls because she wasn’t even intimidated by Tricia, who borderline terrified everyone.

Karen blinks at him like she couldn’t possibly fathom any reason why Craig might have called out to her. Craig registers this sourly. It’s been less than twelve hours since he closed the door to Tricia’s room, nobody’s that dense.

“Is your brother alright?” He finally asks reluctantly, when the silence has gone on long enough for Karen to start fidgeting uncomfortably.

Then she looks at him, surprised.

Hardly an understandable reaction, Craig thinks with ill grace. He hasn’t spoken to her brother in six or so years but he sure as hell went to pick the guy up from Denver under mysterious circumstances in the early hours of the morning. And left him possibly dying in Tricia’s room as well? Craig doesn’t consider himself a nosy person- pretty much the fucking opposite actually- but surely there are limits to how involved someone has to be before it’s their business as well.

“Kenny?” Karen asks, like she has more than one brother in South Park and Kevin McCormick hadn’t skipped town and disappeared off the face of the Earth fourteen months ago.

Craig shrugs; waits. Karen appraises him nervously.

“He’s fine?” She says like a question, then, “Why? Have you seen him? Is something wrong?” Her voice rises about three octaves with anxiety, like a piercing whistle. Craig winces, shakes his head to cut her off.

“Yeah he didn’t look too good last night- this morning I guess. What did you guys do after I left?”

Karen looks at him blankly. For a moment there’s something oddly distant in her eyes, like nothing is going on behind them. Craig’s stomach tightens uncomfortably. He doesn’t think she’s a good enough actor to pull off that complete lack of comprehension.

He only knows Karen as Tricia’s near-constant tag-along, but anyone who’s met her can tell you that you pretty much get what you see. She’s a kindly, earnest girl; the perfect foil to his hard ass sister. Their friendship baffles a lot of people, but most people don’t know Tricia the way Craig does and it had always made sense to him that they’d fallen in together. Tricia likes to protect things she cares about, and Karen McCormick was in need of a hell of a lot of protection.

“Last night, after I drove you guys from Denver to my house?” Craig says, not sure whether to opt for confused or annoyed and falling somewhere in between.

Karen’s eyes grow roughly to the size of dinner plates. She clutches her books to her chest hard enough for her fingers to go white with the effort.

“You’ve seen Kenny in Denver?” She squeaks, panicked. Craig hisses out his breath.

“I saw you and Tricia bring him out of some shitty bar there,” he says with rising frustration. “Because you asked me to drive you all back to our house!”

Karen opens her mouth; closes it. Frowns and gives her head a little shake. Her eyes go distant again, confused. Craig stares her down until she speaks. South Park may be the land of the absurd, but Craig’s never had time for that.

“I’m sorry Craig, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Karen’s words are halting, like she’s struggling to find each one before she says it. She pauses, dazed. Craig narrows his eyes.

“Uh huh,” He says slowly.

Something’s off. Karen’s not even seeing him anymore, he’s pretty sure. Craig considers, then holds his arm out and snaps his fingers loudly. It works; Karen jumps, eyes focusing back on him again and she starts talking like she never stopped.

“But please don’t tell anyone about any bar, or Kenny being in Denver.” Karen’s still clutching her books, but her eyes are pleading now, not panicked. Craig blinks. Fucking weird. But there’s a fuzziness in his head reminding him how tired he is, and he just brings a hand to his eyes.

“Seriously?” He says. “Seriously.”

Karen waits, clearly nervous.

“Who would I tell?” He mutters. “Who would even care?”

Karen seems to take this as the desired promise, and offers him a sweet, relieved smile. “Thank you,” she says softly, earnestly, exactly as she had last night. “I can’t give you money, obviously, but if you need a favour, just ask and I swear I’ll do my best.”

The first after school bell rings behind them. Karen gasps and checks a light pink plastic watch on her arm.

“I’m gonna be late for work!” She says. “Sorry Craig, I have to go, but remember what I said!” She turns and starts jogging towards the shopping district. Craig just stares.

What even. Literally what the fuck. What the actual fuck.

When Craig finally gets home he wastes an hour lying on the couch with his arm over his face. Tricia hasn’t come back yet so he can’t ask her what’s going on with the McCormicks, and there’s no way in hell he’s going to risk opening her bedroom door to check until he’s certain that he won’t be responsible for whatever’s going on behind it. He doesn’t move, in fact, until Thomas gets home and asks him what he’s doing.

“Napping,” Craig says. Thomas frowns at him.

“No homework?” He asks pointedly. Craig heaves a sigh and hauls himself up.

“I’ll go do it now,” He mutters, only mildly sarcastic. Thomas nods, satisfied.

“Check on your sister, will you? She was looking terrible this morning.”

“What?” Craig says.

Thomas tells him Tricia has been sick all day and stayed home to sleep and recover. Then he drops onto the recently vacated couch and flicks the T.V. on.

Craig grits his teeth and storms up the stairs once his dad’s suitably distracted by the evening news. By the time he makes to Tricia’s room he’s about ready to strangle her. The bedroom door is closed but not locked when Craig barges through it. He’s half-expecting to find the corpse of Kenny McCormick somewhere in the room but it’s the same mess of clothes and comics that it normally is.

“What the hell Craig?” Tricia is bundled up in the bed with only her head visible over the top of the comforter.

“So I do all the work and have to go to school anyway but you get to pussy out and sleep?” Craig snaps. “This is bullshit!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t care. Piss off,” Comes the muffled voice again. Craig narrows his eyes. Ungrateful brat.

“Last time I help you,” he says. “Not even a fucking day of gratitude. Next time you can tell your ‘friends’ to shove it.”

Tricia says nothing, just groans and sinks further into the mattress.

“Oi!” He snaps. “Don’t ignore me-” Craig stops. Tricia frowns at him from the bed. The room is empty and dark with the curtains still drawn, but he can see that she’s lifted her head from the covers. Her face is pale and sweaty and she has dark circles under her eyes that look like they aren’t the result of sleeping with a face full of make-up for once.

“What?” She rasps, familiar irritation building in her eyes. Craig ignores it.

“You’re actually sick?” He says incredulously. Tricia curls her fingers impulsively, cracking her knuckles- usually a good sign that whatever altercation she was in was about to become more trouble than it was worth. Craig weighs his options and decides to forge ahead because last time he looked at that bed- not twelve hours ago- McCormick was bleeding out in it.

“What did you do with McCormick? Karen wouldn’t say.” He casts an eye over the bed, finding it suspiciously clear of blood.

“Obviously Karen was here. She went home before morning, moron. Like she always does,” Tricia says waspishly, rolling onto her side away from him. “And Kenny hasn’t got fuck-all to do with anything. Who knows what he’s doing? Now piss off, I’m literally dying.”

“What are you talking about?” Craig hisses in frustration. “I get that it’s some big mystery but I would think that doing all the fucking driving to Denver and back might qualify me for the secret club, wouldn’t you?”

Tricia narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you tripping right now?” She asks flatly. “Because if you are kindly take your delusions and yourself out of my space.”

“You’re really gonna pretend it didn’t happen,” Craig says, the wind blowing out of him as he stares incredulously. Tricia rolls her eyes with such force he’s surprised they don’t explode.

“Yeah, sure, whatever. Nothing happened. Case closed, get out junkie.” Her middle finger pokes out of the comforter as her head ducks back under it. Craig breathes out furiously, raises his own finger for the hell of it and leaves.

“Literally the last fucking time I help her,” He snarls again and slams his bedroom door behind him.

Okay, apparently McCormick’s got some big secret he’s told Karen and Tricia to keep. And both of them were loyal people. So if Craig’s gonna find out what actually happened last night, he’s going to have to go straight to the source.

Time to see if McCormick is still alive.

.

.

.


End file.
